


Out of Order

by 9thdoor



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: First Dates, Fluff, M/M, Office AU, vending machines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:18:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1321273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9thdoor/pseuds/9thdoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco spends too much of his time avoiding one of his bosses in the office, and spending time at the vending machine is almost inevitable.<br/>Meeting Jean is just as unlikely, but both of them are pretty sure they prefer breaks to any kind of desk job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Order

Office work was known to be boring, but the only thing worse than sitting at a desk some odd hours of the day was driving a truck a _ll_ day and stocking vending machines for those very office workers. Complaints aside, Jean wasn’t going to quit this job for only one reason. Sure, the pay was shitty, getting stuck in a humid truck that smelled of artificial cheese was never any fun, and no one _liked_ having to do the night shift, but there were benefits to everything. Or there was _a_ benefit, one. 

 

And his name was Marco.

 

Every day—or at least every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, when Jean stocked the machine—this freckled, button down and khaki slack wearing guy would come down the hall just as Jean was rolling the supply caddy back outside. It should’ve been left at that, and gone absolutely nowhere, but Jean was decidedly an idiot, and had to change up his routine. Because if he was sure of one thing, it was that this freckles kid was cute as fuck, and always smiling when he passed him. 

 

That was a miracle in and of itself, as far as Jean was concerned. _No one_ liked working in those little cubes, let alone had a smile on their face as they did so. But yet, Marco (as he’dtotally–not–on–purpose heard one of his coworkers call him) was always in a pretty good mood. Or maybe he was smiling at him, Jean allowed himself to think only once or twice before firmly trying to persuade himself that was something which would _never_ happen. 

 

And that same logic was what he used to rationalize arriving to Trost and Co. just five minutes later than usual. Since he had absolutely no chance of even _speaking_ to cute, tall (as much as he hated to admit it) and freckled, then coming in just a little later to see him just a _little_ more couldn’t hurt anyone. Right?

 

Of course not, he told himself, over and over. Even as he walked down the hall and _knew_ that at least two of the options for food would be empty (these workers were savages when hungry), Jean refused to believe that he could get lucky in any sense of the word. But as he pushed the cart stacked with cardboard boxes of chips down towards the vending machine, he still felt a little rush of pride that he had managed to time it just perfectly, as Marco was standing there with a few dollar bills in his hand. 

 

In a manner that he hoped was completely nonchalant, he made his way over to the machine, finding that he was most certainly going to have to either say something or awkwardly go about changing the food in an awkwardly quiet manner. There was no way in hell he’d settle for the latter, and just as he was struggling to think of something to say, Marco, oh-so-wonderful seeming Marco, spoke up.

 

“Sorry, are you here to fill the machine?” he asked, and Jean blinked, then nodding, unable to say much right then, “Oh, thank god, we’re out of the chips I usually get. I think my boss is starting to like them.”

 

Marco was smiling, and talking to him, and Jean took a moment before replying, hoping he was more than semi-coherent, “Yeah, uh, that’s my job.” He wasn’t sure what idiocy possessed him to say that. Of course it was his job, obviously it was his fucking _job_ , why else would he be here? Honestly, his own stupidity impressed him sometimes. But damn, this freckled guy actually _laughed_ and it made Jean scowl. 

 

He was definitely making fun of him, it couldn’t be anything but that, and Jean sighed. “Whatever, I’m going to have to roll it away from the wall, and it could take a few minutes, so you probably want to move, or go back to work for a bit or something.” Somehow, that failed to deter Marco, and he looked over his shoulder to the end of the hallway that Jean assumed he’d come from. 

 

“I’d really rather not, actually. One of the higher ups comes in every day around now, and I prefer to not be there.” _Every day?_ Jean thought, raising an eyebrow as he made his way to the back of the machine and edged it out from the wall a bit, but only after seeing that Marco had taken a step safely back. 

 

“Guess that makes sense,” he shrugged, messing with the back panel until he managed to undo the screws, leaning the plate up against the wall behind him as he opened the first cardboard box of chip bags. These were the cheesy kind, the ones that not many people ended up buying since they screamed unhealthy. Looking back into the machine, he noticed that only one or two were missing from the line-up, and opening a new box would be a waste, when—at this rate—the whole stack wouldn’t even be half-way gone by the time he came back two days from now. So he set the box aside, looking over to see that...

 

...Marco hadn’t left. He was still standing there, and from the looks of it, he was watching Jean. _Probably just waiting for his chips,_ he assured himself, deciding he might as well get this over with as quickly as possible.

 

“Look, just tell me what kind of chip you want and I’ll stock them so you can grab one.”

 

“Really?” Again, that grin lit up his face, and damn, Jean was liking those freckles more and more. Nodding at Marco, who quickly responded once realizing that he was serious, Jean began looking at the next box. They were Fritos. “Well, I usually get those salt and vinegar ones, in slot A3.” Right, of course that box was at the bottom of the stack. At the very least, Jean was glad doing a job that involved moving things kept him in shape; he didn’t huff over every box of snack food—not anymore. 

 

“Sure.” He then set about moving each box off, prying open the cardboard flaps to begin stocking the third row to the right on the top row. Seeing that Marco was now standing beside the machine and watching him again, Jean nodded, “That should do it, go ahead.” With permission, the other stepped back to the front and inserted his money before pressing the button, a grin on his face when he bent over to pick up the bag.

 

“Thanks, you’re a life saver.” That was not supposed to tempt Jean to smile, it was _not_ supposed to make him want to give freckles and vinegar chips guy his number, and was most certainly not supposed to make him wish they could talk longer.

 

“No problem, it’s my job,” he repeated. Lame. Jean was lame. Though really, this had already been much more than he had expected to start with. The very fact that he’d ended up actually _talking_ to Marco was insane in and of itself, so hey, he wasn’t taking it for granted.

 

“Right,” he nodded, pulling open the bag and popping one in his mouth. Marco turned and started back down the hall, giving a small wave. “Anyways, I’ll be getting back to work now, I’ll see you around.” Hell yeah, he hoped so. Jean managed a wave back, and muttered a curse.

 

He was going to regret today.

 

\-----------

 

A couple weeks had passed, and after that first day Jean had made sure to start coming in again at his normal time. After all, he’d never even planned to end up _interacting_ with Marco, let alone having him give a polite, “Hello,” whenever he passed him in the hallway on his way to make a delivery. The first couple times, the other had tried to make conversation, but after Jean shut those down quickly, Marco gave up, and that was that. So he dealt with almost two months of avoiding speaking to this unfairly cute office guy. As far as he was concerned, it had gone far enough, and he didn’t want to potentially humiliate himself further by actually befriending him, which would only lead to something worse. 

 

Because no matter how much he wanted to hate Marco for being so damn chipper, his personality was too disgustingly cute for him to dislike, especially combined with that smattering of freckles across his cheeks. 

 

Jean would definitely not ever talk to him again, and that was final. Even when he greeted him in the halls, Jean would just nod in acknowledgment and push his cart along faster. But one morning he woke up cursing and running late, and even though he made his first stops as fast as he possibly could in order to arrive at Trost and Co. on time, the traffic gods weren’t smiling on him.

 

“Shit, this is ridiculous,” he muttered, pushing the caddy down the hall. God, he was dreading reaching the machine, which he knew wouldn’t take nearly as long as he wished it would, and to make things worse, Jean could already see Marco. He was wearing a dark green button-up shirt that really brought out how close to olive his skin was and— _damn_ this was why Jean avoided him. However, he considered himself even worse off when the professional appearance was almost ruined by that dorky smile on his face as he waved, and Jean sighed. 

 

He couldn’t very well just ignore when Marco talked to him, as he inevitably would. And no matter how nice turning the cart around and wheeling it right the fuck back to the truck sounded, he needed to get paid, and an office without snacks wasn’t going to get him a check.

 

“Hey,” Jean decided to just get done with it and greeted Marco first. The other probably didn’t expect that but smiled nonetheless.

 

“Running late?”

 

“Is it that obvious?” he answered dryly, already walking to the back of the vending machine to scoot it forward with a small grunt, causing the freckled guy to step backwards in a hurry. Jean didn’t bother to think about the fact that since Marco noticed he was late could only mean that he was actually paying attention. It really wasn’t relevant, as far as he was concerned. 

 

The important part was getting done and out of here as fast as he could so that he could avoid making a fool of himself. 

 

“Sort of, you usually just give me a manly nod in the hallway.” The teasing tone to Marco’s voice wasn’t missed by Jean as he peered around from the back of the machine to see him grinning. “Kidding, it was a lucky guess, mostly,” he shrugged.

 

“You’re kind of an ass Marco,” Jean sighed and went back to taking off the back panel, then tensed a little.

 

 _Shit, shit, shit,_ he had screwed up big time now, he wasn’t even supposed to know his name, let alone use it so...conversationally. It sounded like they were _friends_. Jean made a mental note to smack himself later.

 

“Oh? You already know my name,” he sounded a little surprised, and Jean knew better than to look at him again at risk of further embarrassment. Though he did have to step out from behind the machine to open the box, going with the salt and vinegar first and mumbling something about overhearing. “The kind you want out again?” Jean said after a moment, allowing himself to look up at Marco, who was grinning like an idiot.

 

“Yep, you remembered.” He sounded a little surprised, and Jean mentally cursed himself again, he was acting way too much like he cared. Which he didn’t, of _course_ not. Who would care about a guy who they happened to pass in the hall and talk to a couple of times? And who they considered just about as endearing as a fucking puppy when he wasn’t making him look like an idiot.

 

“Whatever,” he grumbled again. Marco didn’t say anything against his generally grumpy disposition, but Jean knew he’d thought about it, he had to.

 

Since the first time they’d officially met, Jean had started refilling the salt and vinegar chips first every time, since they always seemed to be out or nearly there. And if Marco had happened to come up while he was working, then he could just buy his snack and go. Or maybe stay and talk, which Jean was totally not hoping for.

 

“Anyways,” the other continued, unhindered by Jean’s attitude, “You see now that I wasn’t lying, my boss really is starting to eat all the salt and vinegar.” 

 

“Uh-huh.” He started shoving the bags into the reeled wires, not really paying much attention to the job at hand after he finished the first row. 

 

“Thanks for filling them up first this time,” Marco said and he was sure, even though he couldn’t see his face, that he’d grinned as well. But now Jean was worrying, and his immediate default of ‘Try to Impress or Retreat’ had started, and his response made it obvious which way he was headed right now.

 

“It’s my job.” Shrugging and stepping out, he picked up another two boxes. Marco raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Need help?” he offered kindly, taking a step closer.

 

“I told you, it’s my job.”

 

Marco furrowed his brow, “Right, sorry.” But the smile quickly came back to his face as he teased, “You do look pretty strong, I don’t know why I even asked.”

 

Rolling his eyes at him, and unable to hold back a bit of a smirk, he said, “You’re still kind of an ass.”

 

“You’re actually capable of smiling,” the other continued to tease him, and Jean swore that if he wasn’t so damn attractive half the time, he’d probably have considered swinging at him. 

 

“Don’t you have work too?” Jean asked, now almost obviously trying to get rid of him, because if Marco didn’t stop trying to both be nice _and_ tease him, he was going to end up saying something he’d really regret.

 

“Mhm,” he hummed, bending over in front of the vending machine and picking up his chips, “You’re right, and I think Levi’s left, so I’ll be going.” Finally he’d seemed to get the idea and stepped away, seeming to head down the hall as Jean heard receding footsteps. 

 

He’d barely managed to survive that, and his normal level of relaxation was returning when—

 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” It was Marco, that _idiot_ from right beside him in the hall, just a few feet away from the vending machine and making him almost jump.

 

“Shit! Are you trying to scare me?” The other frowned in a slight (though not nearly enough) apology.

 

“Sorry, I was just wondering, what’s your name?”

 

And Jean Kirstein was given a decision that no one should ever have to make. To give Marco his name, and regret it, or not, and potentially regret it even more. He sighed.

 

“Why do you care?”

 

“You know mine already, it’s only fair.”

 

There was not one fucking thing that was fair about Marco being dressed nicely and Jean wearing some lousy second-hand uniform at all, but in regards to names, he had a point.

 

“It’s Jean.”

 

And he knew, of course, that things could only go downhill from there.

 

\----------

 

If heading downhill meant ending up talking to Marco two out of the three times a week (or on occasion all three) he stocked Trost and Co’s vending machines, Jean sure as hell wasn’t complaining. 

 

They ended up adjusting, falling into more of a pattern than he really could’ve expected. For a week, he’d continued to come at the normal time and mostly avoid the other, but after that, he decided he was wasting a perfectly good opportunity. After starting to come in late again, he knew that Marco had to be noticing, and assured himself that he really didn’t care.

 

Because even if that aggravatingly attractive, freckled, teasing guy was aware of Jean’s change in schedule, getting to talk to him was nice, and on occasion Jean found himself not worrying about impressing him or not. Hell, they’d even joked around a few times, though most of them involved Marco poking fun at him and Jean shoving it right back.

 

And as much as he completely and utterly hated to admit it, he supposed they were friends, even though he’d been avoiding it for so long. 

 

“Morning Jean.” 

 

He didn’t even bother to look up, having already started taking the panel off, half-grunting a, “Morning,” as he set it down on the floor, stepping out to see Marco there. Today he was wearing a navy shirt, and it looked good as usual.

 

But that was normal, and it was _all_ normal, and the unexpected comfort of that was really too nice. 

 

“How’s traffic?” The first time Marco had asked, he’d promptly answered by asking why he didn’t know, since he’d driven here, but the other had shut him up when he admitted that he usually got to work at about eight in the morning and there weren’t many cars out then. Jean had felt guilty afterwards and shut up, knowing he should’ve known more about the roads anyways, given that it was his job to drive. 

 

Jean shrugged, “Normal, heavier here downtown. Most of my morning deliveries are on the outskirts, so it hasn’t been too bad so far.”

 

Slowly, they were getting to know each other just a little better, since with small talk like this, they couldn’t avoid it all too much. As was now routine, Jean opened the box of salt and vinegar chips first and began restocking. Hell, he’d even started putting the box on top when he came in. Marco was having a bigger effect on him than he wanted to admit.

 

“Mm, I had to get here earlier today, Levi’s doing a mandatory inspection.” 

 

Levi, Jean was proud to know, was the higher up who Marco constantly tried to avoid by coming out to the hallway and buying chips every day without fail. The slightly taller man’s description of his superior (short, pissed and never with enough coffee) had made Jean laugh the first time he heard it. 

 

That wasn’t all he knew about Marco either, and he sure as fuck was proud of it. He was twenty-six, living in an apartment a few blocks away from the office, and didn’t have a roommate. Which, Jean hoped, meant he was single. 

 

The learning about each other hadn’t been a one way street either, Jean had told Marco more about himself than he’d ever thought he’d get the chance to. Even if it was a long way coming, they were _friends_ , and sometimes when Jean thought about it, the idea made him giddy. 

 

Not that he spent a _lot_ of time thinking about Marco, that would be absurd. It wasn’t like he daydreamed about coming up with potential ways to ask him out or thought about what having dinner with Marco would be like, or how potentially good he’d look in a nice suit. Spending his free time doing things like _that_ would be ridiculous, and embarrassing on top of that fact. 

 

“You’re just going to hang out in the hallway the whole time then?” Jean said, giving him a sideways smirk as he looked out from the side of the machine and raised an eyebrow. The slightly sheepish grin on Marco’s face was worth the extra time that it was going to take him to stock the machine. 

 

“Well, if you don’t mind me spending more time out here, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.” 

 

Damn Marco. Damn Marco and his effortless charm and insistence on spending time with him in the hallway. Fuck _him_.Okay, that probably wasn’t a good choice of words on his part, but instead of dwelling on the impossible, he focused instead on coming up with an adequate response, denying the embarrassment that rushed to him naturally.

 

“Uh,” was the first intelligible thing that came out of his mouth. Jean was a master of eloquence. “I can’t really tell you _not_ to, but I’m not going to be here forever, so you might end up just sitting alone.” His tone came off more teasing than he’d originally intended, which made him relieved,given the fact that it would’ve been more nervous otherwise. 

 

Marco seemed to hesitate before responding, and Jean could’ve sworn he saw a slight ruddiness to his complexion, though he assured himself moments later that he had to be imagining things. “Are you saying that you’d be _opposed_ to spending time with me?” 

 

The slight frown on his face was totally and completely unfair, Jean knew that much instantly, and sighed. “I am working, you know. I can’t just take time off to sit with my favorite chip-loving idiot.”

 

Again, the answer seemed to be delivered after a moment of uncertainty. “Well, would you say no if I offered to pay for lunch?” 

 

Holy _shit_ was Marco asking him out on a _date_? No, there was no way something like that was going on, he rationalized, quickly backpedaling. Friends went out to lunch together all the time, and this was totally a friend thing. After all, Marco hadn’t done anything to indicate otherwise, and there was no reason that he should assume anything ridiculous.

 

“Sorry,” he gave a lopsided and slightly relieved smile, “I really do have to work though, so I can’t.” 

 

With a sigh, Marco put his money into the machine, waiting as the chips dropped only to have Jean come around to his side and pull the chips from the slot, offering them out to Marco. When the freckled man reached to grab them, Jean tossed them up, causing them to land on the floor behind him. 

 

“Wow, and here I was thinking you were finally warming up to me,” Marco teased back, though Jean had to guiltily admit that his intentions with tossing the chips were less than innocent. Within a second or two, just as Jean had expected (hoped, really), Marco turned around and bent over. 

 

Oh, the guilt he’d feel later was _so_ worth getting a good look at Marco’s ass. 

 

A moment later, however, it was ruined by the fact that Marco stood and turned around, popping open the chip bag with a crackle. 

 

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, but maybe you’d consider being friends with the lame guy who makes sure you have snack food every day,” Jean shrugged, not about to admit that he was more than ‘warming up’ to Marco.

 

“Oh Jean,” he baited him again, with a roll of his eyes, “You really aren’t too lame.”

 

“Not too lame?” Jean snorted, stepping back behind the machine, “Thanks a lot.”

 

Though really, it was more than he’d ever thought he’d get.

 

\----------

 

Having a close friendship with someone you only got to see three times a week—Jean was making every effort to be on time now, thanks to Marco—was a little odd. But as much as he hated to admit it, Jean had to say that he hadn’t had a friend like Marco in a long time. Even though the other came off so completely innocent and near goddamn bubbly when they’d first met, they managed to get along easily, in a weird sort of way.

 

His own abrasive exterior usually warded off people like Marco who were mostly smiles, but this was different. Not only did that adorably _–annoyingly–_ freckled man put up with it, he managed to push back occasionally with small jeers that could provoke Jean easily. 

 

And honestly, Jean was downright impressed with himself. He hadn’t made a move on Marco. 

 

It was near a miracle, considering that it’d now been close to four months since the original incident, when he’d broken his promise to never speak to Marco. Now he couldn’t imagine _not_ having ended up talking to him that day, though it was more in a platonic way than anything. Sure, he’d slipped a couple innuendo by Marco, but they’d been met with laughs, and it surprisingly didn’t make things awkward.

 

To think that this was all thanks to one minor slip up he’d had that caused him to come into work late was something Jean found all too crazy, but appreciated nonetheless. 

 

Sometimes he could hardly stand it though, and sometimes that dislike for having settled as ‘just friends’ with Marco made him think that he’d actually do something. Of course, he never did, but Jean thought about it, and he thought about it often. 

 

Maybe he’d ask him out to lunch, as Marco had tried to do weeks before, and they’d go hang out. Maybe at the end he’d say that it was nice, and that they should do it again sometime, and they would.

 

Or perhaps it’d work out more comically, with _Marco_ being the one tripping over words in an attempt to ask him on a date rather than Jean being embarrassed. As much as he hated to say it, that’d be something different from usual, and he’d revel in it.

 

In the end, he knew there was no chance that he’d try any of the plans he spent the spare time in traffic thinking up, and there was no way he’d let himself believe for a second that he wouldn’t get rejected. 

 

Still, past that cursing, chip-toting surface, Jean knew he was much too soft for his own good, and wasn’t quite able to resist the temptation of coming in five minutes earlier than usual. After all, that was all the time he’d need to get what he wanted done. He removed the panel, checking to see that Marco hadn’t ended up coming down the hall yet and then set to work. 

 

Yet again, the salt and vinegar chips were completely out of stock, but instead of refilling them, he pulled out the screwdriver that all workers were required to keep handy, bringing it up to the base of the metal spiral that controlled this row.

 

If he tightened it just enough, Jean knew that the machine would go more slowly, resulting in the chips to get stuck. And just when Marco would be upset, and unable to get his favorite chips, Jean could save the day, and maybe ask him out to lunch.

 

Sure, it wasn’t a plan with guaranteed success, but if there was anything Jean knew how to work, it was vending machines. So when he saw Marco coming down the hall only a couple minutes later, Jean hid a grin. He’d already managed to stock up the salt and vinegar, now moving onto the other rows and giving the other a quick wave as he peered around the machine.

 

“Morning,” Jean said, a smile on his face to match Marco’s. Damn that good looking man and his button-downs. Plaid was Jean Kirstein’s weakness.

 

The freckled man beside him frowned a little, however, prompting, “You’re early today.”

 

Jean shrugged, “The traffic was light, so I arrived a little bit before usual, yeah.” Unable to resist, he added, “Keeping track of when I come in?”

 

“Of course.” Marco said without hesitation, leaning against the opposite wall with a sigh. 

 

Even though he knew Marco was teasing, Jean couldn’t help but be caught off-guard then. It was a joke, a stupid one, though he didn’t manage a laugh, instead continuing with his work. Before, it would’ve surprised him that Marco didn’t go straight for buying the chips, but now it’d become routine for him to hang out and talk for a good ten minutes or so before actually purchasing anything. Jean was willing to wait.

 

“So, Levi as harsh as always?” It was Monday, and after a weekend they both knew that Marco’s boss could get pretty grumpy.

 

The man across from him snorted, nodding, “Yeah, worse today. We just got a report in about stocks going down, and the president is blaming him, so naturally, those under him suffer. Luckily Hanji’s got a handle on him, even if they just make Levi crazier most of the time.”

 

It had taken awhile for Marco to admit that his competition for the salt and vinegar chips was Hanji, a boss of this floor who was more than a little well known for their love of experimentation. Jean hadn’t asked for an elaboration.

 

Their normal, idle chatter continued for a good ten minutes or so, time which Jean enjoyed shamelessly. Then, Marco slid the money into the machine, and Jean bit his lip to keep from saying something too soon. 

 

Twenty seconds passed, and Marco sighed. “Something wrong?”

 

Jean stepped out from behind the machine to see his handywork. Behind the glass, a small, snack-sized bag of salt and vinegar chips were snagged between the makeshift shelf and the metal coil. 

 

“It’s stuck,” Jean stated bluntly, causing Marco to roll his eyes.

 

“Yeah, no shit Jean, can you fix it?” Could he fix it, tch, he’d caused the problem in the first place! He’d never been so proud of inconveniencing someone. 

 

“Of course I can, this is my job, isn’t it?” That phrase seemed to come up every once and awhile still, and was sort of like an inside joke, though neither of them could really explain when it had ended up that way. 

 

Without giving Marco time to answer, Jean made his way back to the rear of the machine, looking over the panel with a hum. “Well,” he started, pulling out the screwdriver from his pocket, right where he’d left it. Normal people carried tools around all the time, Jean was certain. Cause he was cool, and good at this, and fucking prepared to help out Marco, that’s what. “It should work out if I loosen this a bit–“

 

He did so, Marco returning to the front to watch the snack’s progress, or more accurately, lack thereof. 

 

“It’s not moving Jean,” he said, and the other muttered something under his breath about how it really should be. After toying with the screw for a few more seconds, maybe even a full minute, he realized that he’d fucked up.

 

“Shit,” he grumbled, jostling the row a little and causing the bag to almost slide out of the grip, but not quite. This continued for a good five minutes as Jean became more embarrassed and Marco became more concerned. Muttered curses could be heard coming from the corner and suddenly there was a harsh, banging sound as Jean’s foot met the bottom of the machine and he gave a loud, “Oh fuck it!”

 

It was an awful plan to begin with, he realized, as he stepped out from behind the machine and slapped one of the ‘Out Of Order’ signs he was required to carry on the front of the glass pane. The snack still hung there, taunting him.

 

“Well,” Marco spoke up, “Looks like I’m out of my daily snack.”

 

About to make a harsh remark about how now really wasn’t the time to make fun of him, Jean was cut off before he began by Marco saying, “You know, this is usually my lunch.”

 

“I’m sorry, alright?” Jean ran a hand through his hair in frustration. This wasn’t how today was supposed to go at all.

 

But Marco just fucking _chuckled_. And it was infuriatingly cute too, Jean hated it. And by hated, he meant loved.

 

“You don’t need to apologize, but if you wanted to, you could come with me to get a replacement.”

 

Jean stared at him with obvious confusion. “What the hell do you _mean,_ Marco? There’s only one vending machine in this building, you know.”

 

He was still grinning, and part of Jean wanted to punch the expression off his face, while the other part wanted to kiss him. 

 

“I meant that we could go get some lunch.” Wait a minute, that was supposed to be his line!

 

“What?” Jean asked, an expression that was a mix of disgust and confusion on his face, and it only made Marco smile more.

 

“Come on Jean, you aren’t stupid. I’m asking if you want to go out to lunch. You don’t have your next delivery until one anyways, right?” That was true, and how’d Marco even—right. This whole friends thing was more than he signed up for.

 

“Yeah, I mean, I guess. It’s normal for friends to go out to lunch, why not.” His tone was bored, and Marco wasn’t going to have any of that.

 

“No, see, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

 

Wait, what?

 

“Then what _do_ you mean Marco? I’m not in the mood to fucking guess, if you can’t tell.”

 

Still, that idiotic smile didn’t disappear from his face. “I’m asking if you wanted to go out to lunch, like on a _date_ Jean.”

 

His mouth dropped open. “A date?” he managed, more quietly, after a moment.

 

Marco nodded, “A date.”

 

“With you?” Jean reassured himself.

 

“With me,” Marco grinned, though Jean knew he was probably getting a little impatient. Who wouldn’t?

 

“Fuck you Marco,” he elbowed him in the side, the surprised look on the freckled man’s face showing his momentary confusion. “I was gonna ask.”

 

“I take that as a yes then?”

 

“You’re an idiot, you know.”

 

“I know,” Marco said happily, taking Jean’s hand with a grin, “Let’s go?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this took awhile, but I'm glad I finished it up! Sorry if there's any mistakes, I'm exhausted and posting because I'm so happy that I finished, please tell me if you see something.
> 
> Credit to here for the prompt: http://ownly-lownly.tumblr.com/post/77344154193/au-where-marco-works-in-an-office-and-buys-potato-chips


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